


A Can of Soup

by Alramech



Series: A Handful of Moments [2]
Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/F, M/M, being there for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 15:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alramech/pseuds/Alramech
Summary: Why make things more complicated and frustrating than they have to be? Michael could swear they were doing things like this to make transitioning more difficult. If society was trying to in any way persuade him to leave the military with their large collection of soups, then someone should let them know that it wasn’t working. Why do they have so many different kinds of soups?*Right after A Box of Silver, but can be read separately*





	A Can of Soup

**Author's Note:**

> –Given the lack of choices while in the military, the vast array of choices in the civilian world can sometimes be overwhelming–
> 
> Source: https://www.va.gov/vetsinworkplace/docs/em_challengesReadjust.html

When Michael got up, it was five in the morning. He had woken up at four-- like always when he hadn’t had any night missions or anything else that had him up late-- but he decided to wait an hour or so to see if the rain would let up. It took a moment for him to remember where he was; the Hynek’s. He sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Michael stood up, his dog tags colliding, before rotating his shoulders back to see how sore he was; he was pleased to find that he wasn’t sore at all. He knew it was odd to be pleased by a bed, but Michael knows better than to take an actual bed for granted. 

Shucking the pajama pants in favor of a pair of tan cargo pants, he put on and swiftly tied the laces of his combat boots. After tucking his pants into his boots, he grabbed a plain white t-shirt and headed out of the bedroom. He pulled on the shirt over his head and then opened the front door where a heavy downpour greeted him. With a small huff, Michael left the dry, cozy home for the embrace of Mother Nature. The chilling shower didn’t phase him, however, because he set off down the street at a jog.  


He’d only gone for runs on the streets a few times, but already he preferred it over running around the outskirts of the base, even with the weather. He wasn’t even really bothered by the rain, and by the time people started to wake up and get ready for work the rain was gone; only puddles left behind as proof.  


He was on what would probably be his last lap around the neighborhood when he noticed that a few people had been pausing to observe him from their porches as he passed; he ignored them. Not bothering to stop running, he took off the white t-shirt. If there was one thing he hated about the rain, it was how it left his clothes soaked. His dog tags now clanged freely with the rhythm each pounding step, wet t-shirt balled up and gripped in one hand.  


“Morning!” He gave a short wave to one woman as he passed. She hurried inside her home, seeming surprised to have been caught. 

A short time later, Michael had arrived back at the Hynek residence. And Mimi happened to be heading towards a car waiting for her, Susie in the driver seat. 

“Michael!” She greeted gladly. “Did you enjoy your run this morning? You didn’t run in the rain, did you?” 

“My run was just fine, thank you Mrs.Hynek,” he replied with a small smile. “The rain was no bother. And how are you Ms.Miller?” 

“I’m good, thank you, Captain,” she smiled back.

“Okay, well Allen has off today and Joel has school,” Mimi began as she got into Susie’s car. “I hope you don’t mind accompanying Allen to the store. You could pick out some stuff for yourself if you would like.”

“I don’t mind,” Michael confirmed. “I’d like to stop by my place anyway. You two have a nice day now.” Susie pulled out of the driveway and the girls were gone.

Michael climbed the stairs and knocked on the front door. He made a mental note to remember not to get locked out because he knew he wouldn’t have a key to get back in. Allen opened the door, letting the younger man inside. 

“Good morning, Michael,” he greeted, retreating back to the kitchen. “I hope you slept well.” Michael returned the greeting and confirmed that he did indeed sleep well. “Good. Now, I was hoping we could head to the grocery store in a bit if that is alright with you.”

“Of course,” Michael replied with a grin. Allen nodded and went to his office. He had a few pieces of paperwork to fill out before they left. He paused his writing when he heard the shower turn on, but ignored it the best he could. 

After Michael quickly scrubbed himself from any sweat and grime with some of the military grade soap that was provided from the base, he wrapped a towel around his midsection. Allen swallowed thickly as the younger man passed by the open door, one hand keeping the small towel from falling. It was just his luck that Michael doubled back, choosing to lean against the doorway to his office. “Could we stop by my house on our way there or on our way back,” he asked, water still streaming down his chest. “I have to grab a few things I forgot to pack.”

“Uh, yeah,” Allen rasped. He cleared his throat, glancing up at the other man before looking back down at the papers. 

“Okay, thanks,” he smiled. “I’ll be good to go in a few minutes.” With a nod, Michael had left, leaving Allen to drop his face into his hands.

True to his word, Michael was ready to go five minutes later. He was dressed in a pair of black pants neatly tucked into his flying boots. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his battle-worn bomber jacket. 

“You still coming to the base tomorrow?” Michael asked once they were in the car, taking out his aviators from his pocket and placing them over his eyes. 

“I think so,” Allen replied, backing the car out of the driveway. “I’m only teaching a few classes tomorrow, so I’ll probably be there in the afternoon if I don’t get held up.”

“You won’t miss much in the morning anyway. I have a flight tomorrow afternoon which means a debrief all morning,” Michael’s eyes lit up playfully. “Too bad I’m not in a two-seater. I could have given you a real ride.” Michael shrugged. “Maybe you could come to watch. I can get you in the control tower for a bit.” 

“Maybe,” Allen repeated, smiling at the other man’s enthusiasm for flying. “You have a debrief all morning? When you took me up you didn’t need much time to prepare. They basically handed you the keys.”

“Well, jets are different,” Michael elaborated. He then launched into a huge explanation that was actually somewhat interesting. Allen would even go as far as to compare Michael to his son when he got to talking about Flash Gordon; aviation was his partner’s Flash Gordon. 

\-- 

Once at the store, Allen pulled out the list that Mimi had made so they didn’t forget anything. 

“Okay, I’m going to go get some of the fruits and vegetables,” Allen began, studying the list. “Why don’t you go pick out a few cans of soup.” Michael nodded and Allen took off towards where assumably the fresh produce was. Michael took off his sunglasses and tucked them away in his jacket. Looking around, Michael realized he had no clue where the soup was. With no other ideas besides wandering around, he approached an older woman. 

“Excuse me,” he began, giving a small smile. “Do you know where the canned soup is?” The older woman smiled back. 

“It’s three or so aisles down that way,” she explained, pointed behind him. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Have a nice day.” Michael went to the aisle where the older woman had directed him to and found entire shelves full of soup. It wasn’t the overall quantity that made his stomach feel queasy, rather, it was the sheer number of different options. 

Beef  
Chicken Noodle  
Pepper Pot

There were hundreds of them, all in the same cylindrical can, many of which covered in a red and white wrap. There were so many cans.

Consomme  
Cream of Mushroom  
Onion  
Black Bean  
Green Pea  
Chicken ‘N Dumplings  
Oyster Stew

Michael felt dumbfounded by all of the soup. He just couldn’t comprehend why they needed all the different kinds; why give the decision to pick from all the different kinds? Just pick one. Not five. Not fifty. One. Why make things more complicated and frustrating than they have to be? Michael could swear they were doing things like this to make transitioning more difficult. If society was trying to in any way persuade him to leave the military with their large collection of soups, then someone should let them know that it wasn’t working. Why do they have so many different kinds of soups?  
A hand on his shoulder startled him from his internal battle. “Michael.” It was Allen. “Michael, what’s wrong? Did you pick one?” He shook his head. “Well, do you have a favorite?” Michael shrugged. 

“Okay, how about we grab a bunch and find out which is your favorite?” Allen suggested. 

“Okay,” Michael mumbled, feeling embarrassed. But Allen chose not to comment, only picked a bunch of cans and put them in the basket. 

“We only have a few more things left, okay?” Michael only nodded in response, seeming to have shut down much of his emotions for the time being. Once in the car with the groceries, Michael gave Allen instructions to his house. 

“You can come in if you like,” Michael offered before they got out of the car. 

“Michael,” Allen said softly, cupping said man’s jaw gently. “It’s okay. You understand that right?” 

“Not really, but I appreciate it,” he said honestly after a moment. “I appreciate you being there--being here.” Allen brushed his thumb along Michael’s jaw before leaning in to brush his lips against the younger man’s. Michael flushed when Allen pulled away, but he and Allen were both smiling when they got out of the car. 

Michael pulled out his keys and unlocked the front door. Stepping into the small house, Allen immediately noticed the lack of personal items. In fact, the house looked barely lived in. 

“You can look around if you want,” Micahel called from down the hall. While Allen moved to the untouched kitchen, Michael went to his bedroom and pulled a briefcase out from under his bed. Before he could open it, the doorbell rang. 

“I got it!” Michael yelled, jogging to the door, setting the briefcase on the counter. Upon opening it he was met with the nervous face of another air force soldier. “I’ll be right back, Doc!” he yelled as he stepped outside. “‘William, what’s wrong?’” was the last thing Allen heard before the door shut behind the two men. 

It was a good half an hour before he came back inside, though he was alone. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael began. “It’s just that William, he just-”

“It’s okay,” Allen assured, placing his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “As long as you tell me about it in the car.”

“I will,” he agreed, grabbing the suitcase and another box from a closet. With that, they left Michael’s house and began heading back to Allen’s house. “Early on in the war, I began noticing some of my crewmates start to change mentally. Something just wasn’t right,” he began, breaking the silence. “I talked with a few doctors they all said that it battle fatigue--you know, shell-shock--but they said there wasn’t anything I could do. I thought they were wrong so I began studying Psychology. Eventually, I was able to help them feel better, at least for a little while. It helped that I was someone like them. They trust me.”

“So William,” Allen connected the dots. “He just comes to you now?” 

“Not really,” Michael sighed. “We’re kept busy during the day, thankfully, but at night I receive a lot of phone calls, let me tell you that. But I’d never leave the phone unanswered.”

“What about now?” he asked as they pulled into the driveway. 

“I let the regulars know I’d be away. I gave some of them each other’s phone numbers because sometimes you just need to talk to someone; to feel less alone and less like an outcast.” 

“And what about you?” Allen accused, turning to look at Michael. He sounded more concerned than angry. His voice shifted to a softer tone. “You do know you can talk to me anytime, right? I’ve called you before and you talked some sense into me, so it’s only fair that I return the favor.” 

“Thanks, Allen,” Michael replied with a smile, leaning over to give Allen a quick kiss. “I might have to take you up on that.”

**Author's Note:**

> My grandfather fought in the Vietnam War, during which he helped to set up the very first Psychological tents(or one of the first). Pretty neat, huh?


End file.
